


The Trial of Lancelot

by mylordshesacactus



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (Holy shit Palpatine has a first name), AU, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Palpatine Ruining Everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-15 00:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3432164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylordshesacactus/pseuds/mylordshesacactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has chosen Padmé over her own safety every day since the bold young Queen was elected. That bargain was made long ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trial of Lancelot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArtemisSoteira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisSoteira/gifts).



> Protip: Do not listen to [**Heather Dale**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JJ-RSyhLpo) while editing a Padmé/Sabé fic, because this happens.

   
**Day One**

“It's time.”

Sabé ignores the guard's detached voice. Instead of responding she straightens her sleeves, shakes the creases from her loose canvas pants. They haven't given her anything but a cheap comb, and that she isn't allowed to keep, so she's kept her hair in a tight braid in an effort to remain presentable. She runs fingers over her temples anyway, tucking flyaway strands behind her ears.

She still has a reputation to maintain. She will not go out there looking half-wild.

Her guards shift irritably, but she steps off the transport ship in her own time.

She's grateful that this building has a landing pad attached; she's more grateful that the media is confined to the front courtyard, so that they are able to make the short walk to the central chamber in peace. They pass a closed door labeled _Balcony_ ; the dull murmur of many voices can be heard behind it, and she falters for a moment until one of the guards nudges her further along.

This pair of doors—rich, polished wood carved with an intricately beautiful hunting scene that Sabé wishes she was in a position to appreciate—has no label.

“While we're still young,” one of the guards says, voice flat and neutral. Sabé takes a deep breath, lets her shoulders fall, straightens her back.

Head tossed high with all the dignity of a deposed queen, she pushes the doors open and enters.

* * *

**One Week Previous**  

Sabé is handed a scratched datapad and a magnetic pen that looks like it's gone through a speeder engine.

“Sign off that this is an accurate summary of the personal effects you surrendered upon arrest,” the processing officer says, sounding bored. Sabé glances down the list; it's short, she had technically been on duty at the time. Privately she doubts she will ever see that particular vibroblade again, despite its presence on the inventory.

“I had a pistol,” she points out.

“Property of the crown,” the officer says shortly. “Not yours. It's been returned to the palace.”

Skeptical but unable to argue the point, Sabé enters that information into the datapad before she signs off on the list. It blinks out immediately, and is promptly replaced by five empty spaces.

“Permitted visitors,” the officer sighs. “No more than five. You can leave spaces blank to fill in later. Don't bother putting the Queen.”

Sabé considers this a moment before filling in the first four blanks. _Padmé Amidala_ sits defiant at the top of the list; Captain Panaka, Rabé, and Eirtaé follow her, in that order. There is no one else she has any interest in seeing.

The processing officer rolls her eyes when she sees the list. “We have standing orders not to let you meet with Her Highness until further notice. With what this is going to do to her career already, I doubt she wants to be seen with _you_ anyway.”

Sabé briefly considers commenting on the blatant unprofessionalism, but lets the moment pass.

“You don't know her,” she says instead.

* * *

**Day One**

“Please place your hand on the scanner.”

Sabé rests her fingertips lightly on the blinking pad which apparently serves as a head for the droid positioned to her right. The scanner hums briefly as a blue line travels down it, then gives a quick beep and turns itself off. She pulls her hand back with a mild start as the scanning pad suddenly flips over, replacing itself with a pair of optics and a holoemitter.

The droid whirs, projecting a pale blue image of the non-classified portions of her personal record into thin air. The man who'd given her the instruction nods once, and the projection disappears as the droid rolls into a corner.

Sabé scans the room, as much as she can see. The murmuring from the balcony had died down when she entered, but she can still feel the crowd at her back. Slightly better, perhaps, than having to see them facing her; but paranoia-inducing. Too exposed. No clear exits. No good lines of sight. Enemies on multiple fronts. She's a bodyguard. This is a terrible, _terrible_ position. 

This isn't a courtroom; they've repurposed one of Theed's many libraries. It's a beautiful chamber, dual-leveled, Sabé on the ground floor and the ring of her accusers half a level above her with chairs where there likely used to be bookshelves. Sandstone walls bear delicate embellishments on the columns; there are muted earth tones in the wooden accents and dark green carpeting. The sun glitters in floor-to-ceiling windows.

She's considerably more concerned with the fact that she knows almost no one sitting in a semicircle above her.

That Panaka is among them is an instant relief. The quick smile he gives her when she makes eye contact is tight, forced, but reassuring nonetheless. Governor Bibble, as well, and Sabé is more than aware it would have been difficult for him to manage placing himself in the court. It's possible his only role is an an adviser. But the others... she recognizes their faces, yes, and is certain she would remember their names if they were written down, but they are minor politicians all. More worryingly, they are minor politicians whose faces she has seen beside proposals Queen Amidala has repeatedly been forced to fight. She's never really had to interact with them.

Her lady is nowhere to be seen.

The apparent leader of this committee clears his throat.

“Have you been informed of the charges laid against you?” he asks formally.

Sabé lifts her chin. “I have not even been informed of the nature or purpose of this hearing.” Which is not to say she hasn't guessed.

The man nods. “Given the unique circumstances, it has been decided to invoke an older practice. A Council has been formed to preside over a hearing; this is an old but legal tradition that it is felt is better able to take action in this case.”

“Felt by whom?” Sabé demands.

The man raises an eyebrow. “By the legal experts entrusted with your case. Given the number of state secrets and obscure traditions fundamentally involved with such a delicate case, it was felt that a traditional jury would be unfair and prevent you from arguing effectively in your own defense. Care has been taken to ensure that you will still be tried on a public platform, so that the people of Naboo will know what happened during the proceedings. You may lodge a formal complaint if you wish, but the hearing will still take place.”

“I would lodge a formal complaint that it takes place at all,” says Sabé. “I know the tradition of Council hearings, chairperson. You accuse me of treason.”

One of the other politicians—another man for whom Sabé has no name—leans forward. “So you _do_ know your charges.”

The chairperson holds up his hand. “The charges will be laid out presently. You are—”

“Chairperson.” The Council members look irritated at the interruption. Good. “You claim this is a formal Council, but I recognize enough faces to be concerned. Many among your number have reasons to wish me harm outside of whatever charges are laid against me—”

“This Council is made of honest citizens,” snaps one of the politicians—a woman, this time.

“And furthermore,” Sabé says loudly, “I have never heard of a trial for high treason in which the reigning Monarch had no voice.”

The chairperson says evenly, “Due to her direct involvement in the relevant events, it has been determined that Queen Amidala is compromised by a conflict of interest in this case, and has recused herself by request of the Council.”

Some of the cold that had been threatening to creep into Sabé's chest fades. She hasn't been abandoned, then, only left alone.

“Am I to have no defenders, chairperson?” she asks quietly.

“Your words and actions will speak for themselves,” she's informed, “and in addition to the visitors you named upon your arrest you of course have the right to legal counsel and, if you wish, an information droid. They will help you to understand the charges you face. Charges which, if there are no further questions, I will explain now.”

“They are groundless,” Sabé says boldly. “But I would hear them.”

“You are charged,” the chairperson says quickly, as if fearing further interruptions, “With high treason against the crown of Naboo, for reasons which may include violating the Queen's person in a manner which threatens Her honor, criminal interference with royal decrees—”

“ _What?_ ”

“—abuse of state position for personal gain, and intent to hinder the legal succession of the throne of Naboo,” he finishes. “Do you accept or deny these charges?”

“I deny them with all my heart, chairperson,” Sabé says coldly, “and demand to know who lays them against me.”

There is murmuring from the balcony behind her, but the chairperson is unaffected. “Relevant information regarding the charges will be provided for you upon request. You maintain innocence, then?”

“I _am_ innocent.” Well. At least of treason, anyway.

“The Council acknowledges your plea.” The chairperson glances behind her and nods, and Sabé turns to meet her guards halfway to the door.

* * *

**Day Two**

“Can you confirm to the Council that you received the information sent you regarding those details of the case you are legally permitted access to?”

Sabé barely inclines her head. “I did. There are very few.”

“We have been informed you have waived your right to legal counsel.”

Her eyes flash. “Then you are misinformed. I have no interest in the counsel you offered me.” That one, Sabé _had_ known—a slimy and malicious woman personally responsible for no small number of headaches in the Palace. “I am familiar with treason laws and have access to an information droid. If I have no other options for legal counsel, then I will make do without it. You may note however that I specifically provided the names of legal experts I trust.”

“The Council is not prepared to allow the accused access to potentially compromised sources at this time, but your request will be considered.”

Sabé's smile is cold, but unsurprised. This, she knows, is skirting the borders of legality. Treason councils have the right to place justifiable restrictions on visitors to the accused, within certain limits; these limits do not allow for the stifling of a prisoner's right to a legal representative. Providing one and having them rejected gives them just enough room to argue. At least they have made their intent clear.

“You are determined to see me fall, chairperson,” she murmurs.

He ignores her in favor of activating a datapad and setting it up on his stand.

“You understand the crime of which you are accused?”

“I understand the actions of which I am accused, and deny that any crime took place.”

The man Sabé had noticed the first day—younger than the chairperson, with blonde hair and blue eyes—leans forward. “And what do you believe those actions are, girl?”

Sabé lifts her chin and says mildly, “The nature of the charges suggests the Council objects to my private relationship with the Queen Amidala.”

The chairperson's eyes are sharp. “Elaborate on the nature of this relationship.”

Sabé raises an eyebrow. “Charges of treason over a relationship the nature of which you are unaware? Perhaps I was wrong.”

There are brief titters from the balcony, and she allows herself a small smirk. The Council does not appear amused, but Captain Panaka's lips twitch.

“You called it a private relationship,” he says. “Can you explain to the Council what you meant by that wording?”

She shoots him a grateful look; he is doing his absolute best to let her steer the line of questioning, and she adores him for it. “Of course. I was referring to the fact that we have always, for the sake of propriety and in the interest of upholding the dignity of Naboo and the proper deference to the image the Monarch must maintain, kept all but our professional interactions to private quarters. This was largely for her own safety—”

“To protect her from the scandal that was sure to follow the revelation of your affair?” the blonde man asks sharply. Sabé decides she would very much like to shoot him.

“I refer to her physical safety, councilman,” she snaps. “In a time of danger, it would be significantly harder to..." She only barely manages to cut herself off in time. Amidala's use of decoys is something of an ill-kept secret, but suspicions and a public confirmation are very different things. She will not compromise Padmé's safety. "To switch between the roles of lover and bodyguard, if either of us were in the habit of being demonstrative. I would not shirk my duty so lightly.”

The dark-haired woman scoffs. Sabé ignores her.

The chairperson clears his throat. “That you kept this relationship behind closed doors is obvious. Please give the Council your reasons for choosing to keep it hidden in such a way, when the people of Naboo have a right to be aware of their Monarch's actions.”

“I have just given them, chairperson,” Sabé points out. “Perhaps you should be taking notes.”

“Then you maintain your secrecy was due solely to the need to provide for the Queen's safety in the event of a crisis?”

“We are private people, chairperson,” says Sabé. “That privacy was maintained out of a sense of decorum. The security benefits were a factor, but not the only one.”

“You're very insistent on your privacy,” observes the blonde man. “What precisely were you trying to keep private?”

Sabé frowns slightly, and her answer is slower than normal. “The fact that the relationship existing between myself and the Queen is more than professional, councilman,” she says carefully. “Or rather, that a relationship beyond the professional exists in addition to it, when we are off-duty and in private.”

“And this private relationship,” says the dark-haired woman. “How would you describe it?”

Sabé's frown is decidedly more than slight now. “I don't understand.”

“Romantic?” Panaka suggests, as if he doesn't know the answer perfectly well.

“Beyond words, sir,” she responds, unable to keep a brief smile from her face.

The blonde man's eyes glitter with snakelike malice. “Sexual?” he says.

Sabé's shoulders set back. “Yes,” she says stiffly.

“Why?” asks the woman. When Sabé, confused, doesn't respond, the chairperson sits back.

“No further questions.”

* * *

**Day Five**

When the guards fetch her again, three days have gone by and Sabé could recite Naboo's treason laws in her sleep. She's named the information droid Rusty, which seems to offend it. She tries to ask her guards what's taken so long, but they restrict themselves to pointing and blunt instructions. No one responds to her questions until she's standing in front of the Council again.

“Chairperson,” she says. “I fail to see how I can be expected to prepare for my appearances if I am not told when they will be or what is happening between them.”

“The Council was establishing the truthfulness of your confession by correlating it with other sources,” he replies calmly.

“I thought,” Sabé says tersely, “that my _testimony_ was intended to speak for itself.”

“You're accused of treason,” the dark-haired woman points out coldly. “You can't expect us to take you at your word.”

Sabé very nearly throws her hands up. “I am not accused of any treachery!” she says. “If anything you charge me with a crime of excessive devotion.”

“So we do,” the chairperson acknowledges, bringing up his pad of questions. Sabé realizes already that she is going to grow to hate that datapad before this ordeal is over.

“Are you,” he asks, “familiar with Nabooan consent laws?”

Sabé blinks. “I am.”

“Can you tell the Council the age of consent on Naboo?”

“Sixteen,” Sabé answers immediately. “For humans, provided the partner is no older than eighteen; twenty-one, for true age of majority. The Gungans have their own age of maturity that I believe is somewhat later.”

“You're not familiar with the Gungan age of maturity?”  
  
“As neither I nor the Queen is a Gungan, I respectfully suggest the Council abandon this line of questioning before it embarrasses itself.”

The balcony titters again.

The snake looks irritated. “At what age did you consummate your relationship with Amidala?” he asks.

“Myself, or Her Highness?” Sabé replies, mild and respectful as a counter to the impatient snap in his voice.

The chairperson frowns slightly. “Pardon?”

Sabé gives a small, mocking bow. “I'm flattered that the Council seems to have forgotten, but the Queen and I are not actually the same person.”

Dark-hair's eyes narrow. "It seems to me that you're avoiding the question."

“I didn't exactly mark the calendar, councilwoman,” Sabé points out. “If you are looking for an exact date...”

The snake smirks. “What,” he says. “It was that forgettable?”

“Councilman,” says the chairperson warningly, and the snake sits back, looking like he bit into something rotten.

“As I said,” Sabé continues. “I cannot give the Council a precise time, but our relationship became sexual several months before the Queen's seventeenth birthday, slightly less than one month following mine. That is the best estimation I can provide.”

He leans forward. “Why did you choose that time?”

“Chairperson?”

“Why did you choose that time to begin a sexual relationship?”

Sabé glances at Captain Panaka, confused. He gives her an encouraging nod.

“I...” she stammers. “We had been slowly moving in that direction for some time. It felt right.”

“What were you waiting for?” The chairperson's question is given neutrally, but the phrasing feels off.

“For us both to be comfortable with that level of escalation,” Sabé says cautiously. “Neither of us would have wanted to pressure the other.”

“Mmm.” The chairperson sits back, and nods to her guards. “Nothing more today.”

* * *

**Day Seven**

“This is a witch hunt!” Panaka is insisting as Sabé is escorted into the room. “At _worst_ she's guilty of conduct unbecoming and she should be released into palace custody and court-martialed, this is outside civilian jurisdiction!”

“Settle, please, Captain,” says the chairperson firmly as Sabé steps up to her stand. Panaka visibly grinds his teeth, but sits down and nods shortly to her. She inclines her head, hoping he can read her gratitude.

The chairperson clears his throat, and she reluctantly returns her attention to him.

“This Council,” he says, “Requires you to give an answer to the question you have previously been avoiding.”

“I haven't been avoiding any questions, chairperson."

“Why did you initiate a sexual relationship with Queen Amidala?” he asks curtly.

Sabé has a brief, vivid memory of Padmé—just Padmé, at the time, they hadn't had a chance to switch back yet—smiling and secure in a late Naboo afternoon, leaning over without warning while sunlight flashed in her eyes.

Somehow, she doubts ' _Technically she kissed_ me' is the answer they're looking for.

“I don't understand the question,” she says instead.

“We require an account of the reasons behind such a bold and possibly destabilizing action,” he insists. “The duration and planning involved in this deception clearly indicate it was not an impulsive hormonal decision. Therefore, you had reasons.”

“I...” She genuinely has no idea what could possibly be behind this. “Because we shared a mutual interest, chairperson.”

“An interest in what?” the snake demands.

Sabé doesn't turn her head, but she flicks her eyes over to him and raises an eyebrow in a move copied directly from her lady's most impressively stupid audiences. “Did your mother never have that talk with you?” she asks dryly, and the laughter in the balcony is more than muted titters this time; the chairperson waves sharply for order.

“Immediate pleasure is implied,” he says impatiently. “We are referring to deeper motivations.”

“Such as?” Amidala herself would be proud of the ice in her eyes.

“You need us to spell out the benefits of getting into the Queen's bed?” says Dark-hair. “The blackmail alone would be worth it.”

“To you,” Sabé assures the woman, “I have no doubt it would be.”

Panaka shakes his head sharply. “That's ridiculous.”

“I agree.” Sabé is mildly surprised; this is the first time Bibble has spoken. It would appear he _is_ on the Council, then. That would make the traditional five. “There's absolutely no indication that Sabé has ever sought to use her position as blackmail.”

“That doesn't rule it out,” Dark-hair scowls.

“Innocent until proven guilty, councilwoman,” Panaka says quietly. “If the burden of proof were on a prisoner to provide evidence that they have never blackmailed the Crown, we would _all_ be convicted of treason.”

The chairperson clears his throat again. Another thing, Sabé suspects, that she will grow to hate before this is over.

“You have not been accused of blackmail,” he acknowledges. “Be that as it may, the Council harbors serious doubts regarding your intentions in instigating this... union.”

“I can offer no concrete proof for intentions, chairperson,” Sabé warns. “But I will speak the truth.”

“Why did you enter a sexual relationship with the Queen?”

Frustrated, Sabé digs her nails into the sides of her stand. “ _I do not understand what you mean_.”

“What benefits did you stand to receive in return for your body?” The snake smirks openly, and while he doesn't make a show of it Sabé does not miss the quick glance he casts along her. Neither, judging by his stormy expression, does Bibble. She's grateful her tunic and trousers—as drab as they may be—fit so loosely; but she still misses the form-concealing silk and satin of a handmaiden's gown. More than anything she wishes she had a hood to hide behind.

“You will have to be more specific, councilman,” she says between clenched teeth.

“You claim you were in a romantic relationship,” the chairperson reads off his pad. Joining the list of things Sabé cannot help but notice is the dripping skepticism in the statement. “Are you claiming to have had no awareness of _any_ kind of preferential treatment or favoritism?”

This, thankfully, is a question she is ready for. “Chairperson,” she says. “A close bond is essential between a Monarch and their handmaidens—or manservants, as the case may be. Queen Amidala was my closest friend long before I was her lover. A certain level of preferential treatment is inherent in a close friendship. I never made any request that my sisters-in-arms would not have been equally comfortable making—”

“But you did make requests,” the snake interjects.

Sabé shoots him an irritated glare. “I am her _handmaiden_. Short of living my life mute and dead-eyed it is impossible to avoid making minor requests on a regular basis. It would be improper not to inform the Queen of our activities and receive her blessing.”

Dark-hair speaks up again. “And you expect us to believe it never so much as occurred to you that being the Queen's paramour would put you in a position to ask for favors?”

Sabé lifts her head proudly. “I have no intention of using her—”

“Amidala's not only popular on Naboo,” dark-hair persists. “A few words in the right ears could have made you a wealthy woman. You're not going to be a handmaiden forever, and you're not stupid enough to have no plan for the future.”

“My plans revolve around her, and are none of your—”

“Hitching your wagon to a rising star by way of—”

“ _I love her_.”

There's not quite a stunned silence; nothing so dramatic. But her sudden vehemence gives dark-hair pause, at least, and Sabé lets that pause stretch for a moment before she continues.

“I love her,” she says again, more quietly. “Chairperson, you demanded my reasons and you have them. There are no others. I have loved her since we were children. I will not apologize for it. No living creature who has known her like I have could help but love her. If there are no more questions, chairperson, I would like to be excused.”

* * *

**Day Eight**

As Sabé enters the Council chamber this time, her eyes are immediately drawn to the single splash of color in the room; she drinks in the flowing sunshine-yellow like a drowning man. It's several long moments before she fully realizes the implications of a royal handmaiden standing demurely behind the Council.

A quick, quietly desperate scan of the balcony confirms that Amidala is still barred from the proceedings; after over two weeks with no word, no glimpse of her, Sabé's heart aches at that tiny moment of hope.

Captain Panaka cannot be the only one who noticed the brief flare of joy and pain, but he is the only one who acknowledges it.

“Her Highness has pressed a concession from the Council,” he explains, carefully formal. “As she is prevented from being present at these proceedings, she has demanded she be allowed to place a loyal handmaiden in the chamber, to ensure that she receives the insightful account that a formal report fails to capture. The chairperson has accepted this compromise on the condition the Queen's representative remains under palace protocol.” Speak only when spoken to, or when delivering a report, excepting emergencies. It's the rule they are all technically under while on-duty, but they have only ever adhered to it in company.

It's not as good as having her Queen there—but it's the next best thing.

The chairperson seems impatient today. “Yes, and she's agreed to the terms, haven't you, girl?”

“Of course, chairperson,” Padmé says demurely, and only years of diplomatic training keeps Sabé's expression neutral while her heart soars.

The chairperson's irritable throat-clearing draws her eyes, if not her full attention.

“If we could return,” he gripes, “to the matter at hand.”

Sabé is grateful, infinitely grateful, that Padmé is here today. If she couldn't glance just past the chairperson's shoulder and meet those gentle brown eyes, she would never have been able to answer these kinds of questions.

“As the extent of your influence on the Queen is integral to the question of whether it constitutes a criminal offense against Naboo,” the chairperson begins, “This Council requires a more thorough account of the nature of your relationship.”

It goes downhill from there.

“Which of you made the first romantic overtures?”

“What members of your circle were permitted to be aware of this arrangement?”

“If you will kindly provide the Council with your definition of the term 'romantic' in this context...”

"How often did you disagree with the Queen on matters of policy?"

“Under what circumstances did your first sexual encounter take place?”

"Were mind-altering substances ever involved?"

"Would you describe it as a seduction on your part?"

"Please describe what you would determine to be the norm for your physical relationship."

“Councilman,” Sabé protests finally. Padmé's expression is pained. “I fail to see the relevance of that information to the charges laid against me. You are asking for intimate details that I am not comfortable disclosing in such a public context.” 

“Acknowledged.” The chairperson, thankfully, doesn't seem any more fond of the snake than Sabé is. “The question has been deemed irrelevant. Councilman, if you will move on.”

The snake shrugs and glances at his datapad. “To your knowledge, was your arrangement unique or one shared by other members of the Queen's—”

“Despite the tabloids' rabid speculation since Her Highness turned eighteen,” Sabé interrupts, “No, Queen Amidala does not keep a harem of assassins. Our relationship was exclusive on both sides. Next question.”

Dark-hair takes this one. “During your periods serving as Amidala's right hand,” she says shrewdly, “did the dynamics of your arrangement remain stable?”

Padmé rolls her eyes behind the chairperson's back; Sabé barely manages to keep from copying her. “Again,” she sighs. “I have seen the same back-alley publications you have. Any periods in which my role in her protection became one of leadership were periods of intense stress and fear in which our only priority was keeping the Queen alive. If you are looking for anything else, you will have to use your imaginations.”

“When considering your plans for the future of this relationship,” she begins again; the phrasing is surprisingly diplomatic. “What options presented themselves? Did you at any point consider that if you were married while Her Highness was still in office—”

“That I would be consort, and effectively hindered from ever providing any kind of useful service to the woman I love again?” Sabé's chin comes up defiantly. “Any plans I might have considered at any time were always tempered by the awareness that I might not survive Her Highness' full term, and the assumption that any formal arrangement would only be made after that term was up. Yes, we discussed marriage in the abstract, for some point in the future when we no longer had such a duty to the people of Naboo.”

From the window, Padmé has to duck her head to hide her smile. She looks up from under her hood with those wide, soft eyes glittering, and gives a small nod of approval.

* * *

**Day Fourteen**

Sabé leans heavily against her podium this time, but it is almost a relief to be back in the Council chamber. Lightheaded as she is, at least she's finally out of her cell again. Prisons on Naboo are distinctly more comfortable than on most planets; but there is only so much time a person can stand being locked in a small room with no human interaction and only the changing of the lights and increasingly rare visits from a food droid to break up the monotony.

“Chairperson,” she says. Padmé is standing by the windows again, brow creased in worry, and Sabé wonders exactly how pale she looks. “Again, I am forced to ask after the justification for this. The conduct of this Council shames our proud history.”

The chairperson stiffens; Panaka and Bibble look concerned as well, and Sabé tries to stand a little straighter for their sake. “The Council,” he says stiffly, “has been deliberating, and examining evidence. It is in your best interest for us to do so, handmaiden. If as you claim your innocence will speak for itself, you do yourself no favors by pushing so transparently for a rushed affair that does not give us the time to properly consider all of the facts.”

“A week with no news or outside contact and very little food does me far fewer favors, chairperson,” Sabé replies, and hates the momentary waver in her voice more for the flash of pain on Padmé's face than the sign of weakness it is.

Dark-hair looks down her nose. “Your meals are no different than they have ever been,” she informs her.

“They are not,” Sabé says, “On the rare occasions they arrive.”

“We have very clear records,” the chairperson says dismissively. “You are on a normal meal schedule.”

“Your records are mistaken then,” Sabé says, tired. “I have eaten twice in the past two days, and not at all since this time yesterday.”

“Your lies are growing transparent, girl,” says the snake. “You won't garner sympathy that way.”

“Are you my judge,” she replies, “or my prosecution? I am not the liar in the room.”

“Enough.” The chairperson sets his datapad on its stand and straightens it. “The Council will give your claim its due consideration.”

Wonderful, Sabé thinks with an inward sigh. I'm going to starve to death before they get around to executing me.

“During your time in service to Queen Amidala,” the chairperson begins, “You claim your professional and romantic relationships were kept largely separate. However...

* * *

**Day Fourteen: Evening**

The rapping of a datapad on her bars nearly has Sabé jumping out of her skin.

“Visitor,” the guard says shortly.

Sabé scrambles to her feet; she had just been on the verge of slipping into the vague greyness that has been the only way to avoid losing her mind, trapped here with nothing to do.

“Who?”

“Handmaiden from the palace,” the guard answers. “You want to see her or not?”

“Yes,” Sabé says immediately. “Yes, of course.”

Seeing _anyone_ after all this time is a boon, and the wording of the guard's introduction has her heart in her throat. It's possible, just possible, and with cameras everywhere they won't have much but just the chance to look Padmé in the eye without a crowd surrounding them, a chance to speak, to say the words that have been tangled viciously in her chest since her arrest...

It's the dark navy today, trimmed with silver, the richness of the color tricking the eye into thinking the flowing silk is a much heavier fabric; a work of art in itself, but Sabé barely notices it. Her eyes are locked on the young woman's face.

“Hello to you too,” Eirtaé says dryly. “You know, if you didn't want to see me, you shouldn't have put me on your list.”

It is several long moments before Sabé is able to quell the crushing disappointment she knows has to be showing on her face, but for all the show she puts up Eirtaé's eyes hold nothing but sympathy and affection.

“I know,” she says softly. “She wanted to come, but she can't fool a scanner droid.”

Sabé swallows with difficulty and gives her fellow handmaiden a jerky nod. Eirtaé reaches through the bars and squeezes her shoulder.

“Don't lose hope,” she says. It's a rare moment of genuine tenderness. “She's not willing to let you suffer like this without a fight. Here.”

Sabé doesn't quite understand at first what the silver canister she's being offered _is_. Eirtaé shakes her head with a sigh that sounds just a little too perfect not to be feigned, and takes it back to twist off the top.

“She.” Sabé has a wild urge to laugh. “She sent me soup.”

“Technically she sent you noodles in broth,” Eirtaé says apologetically. “It's the only thing they would let past security. She said you looked like you hadn't eaten in days.”

“She was almost right,” Sabé says, suddenly blinking back tears. It's such a tiny thing; but it's so, so utterly in Padmé's nature. “May I...?”

“Right.” Eirtaé hands her the canister back, along with a plastic spoon. “I'm supposed to tell you that you have to give those both back when I leave.” Her expression suggests she does not appreciate being ordered around by mere prison guards but is putting up with it for Sabé's sake, and expects the proper gratitude for such an injustice. Sabé grins at how much she's _missed_  that.

There is nothing special about the broth at all; in fact it's slightly too salty. But it's hot and filling and the sentiment behind it has her choking up to the point it's difficult to swallow. It's a tiny touch of caring. It's _home_.

“I'm surprised they let her send anything at all,” she murmurs when she comes up for air. “They won't let her see me.” As if Eirtaé wouldn't know that already.

“Mmm.” Eirtaé looks about as happy with that particular abuse of power as Sabé feels. “Treason councils aren't the only ones with access to legal libraries. We're trying, Sabé. We'll get her here if we can. In the meantime she's already launching a full-scale investigation into this place's expenses and inventory over the past month. We're hoping that will scare them straight. If they keep trying to starve you, she says to signal that your cover is blown the next time you're brought out.” Sabé nods, chasing down an errant noodle.

Eirtaé sits with her for several quiet minutes and lets her eat, and it's a balm like Sabé could not have imagined just to have her there.

“Is there anything you want me to tell her?” she says quietly, after a while.

Sabé hands the empty canister back with the spoon inside, and her hand only trembles a little. “Tell her...” She swallows. “Tell her I would do it all again, and I would give anything to...”

Eirtaé waits for a moment, then squeezes her hand. “I will. And you'll be back soon. We all know it. The only reason this hearing's dragging on so long is that they know nothing they accuse you of will stick.” Sabé nods blindly, and Eirtaé's comforting grip shifts. She tilts Sabé's chin up carefully. “She did give me a message for you, if you want it.”

“Of course I do,” Sabé whispers.

“She loves you,” Eirtaé says simply. “You're magnificent in the Council chamber and she's never been more proud to call herself yours.” She smiles and gives Sabé's fingers a gentle squeeze, then leans forward and kisses her gently.

Sabé starts, of course, because nothing wakes you up quite like _that_ ; but while she could go the rest of her life without ever experiencing that kind of existential terror again something about the kiss feels eerily _right_. It's slightly off-center, light enough to be chaste but with enough intent to be anything but, and even the gentle pressure on her fingers is exactly the way Padmé likes to brush their hands together.

Eirtaé is _good_.

“I'm not passing _that_ reply along,” she says mildly, apparently once she's made certain that she hasn't scared Sabé off. “Twice was quite enough, thank you. I adore you both, but there are some parts of your shoes I have no intention of filling while you're away.”

Sabé rolls her eyes as a guard approaches to inform them that this is not a conjugal visit and Eirtaé is going to have to leave. “Tell that to the Council,” she mutters.

“Now, please,” says the guard. Eirtaé rolls her eyes, takes her time standing, and leaves in her own time.

Shortly after she hears the security doors whir closed, one of the guards turns on an irritatingly loud music channel.

* * *

**Day Zero**

“Mmm.” Padmé's eyes drift closed as she murmurs sleepily. “Don't stop.”

Sabé is only too happy to oblige. Her fingers, carding absently through her lady's hair, pluck at the remnants of one of Rabé's delicate braids. The elaborate hairstyles of a Monarch are undone in these quiet hours, and Padmé's hair flows free and soft. Outside in the late-afternoon sunshine, birds are quarreling.

She has no idea how long they have been like this, Sabé curled up at one end of the Queen's plush couches with Padmé's head in her lap. If the moment is never broken, she will die content.

“What time is it?” Padmé mumbles.

“Whatever time you want it to be,” is Sabé's quiet reply.

Padmé smiles, eyes still closed. “Then we have all the time in the world.” One hand feels around for a moment before finding Sabé's fingers where her free arm rests along the back of the couch; she guides them to her face to kiss her handmaiden's fingertips. Sabé draws her knuckles lightly down her lady's cheek, and is rewarded with a soft, appreciative noise.

“I want to take you to Varykino,” Padmé whispers.

Sabé smiles, traces Padmé's ear with her thumb. “I've been, my lady.”

Padmé shakes her head as best she can without actually moving. “That was in winter,” she protests with a soft smile. “I want to be there with you in the summer. Minimal staff, invisible security...just the two of us on the lake. My family will give us privacy for a week if I ask. Captain Panaka won't object, I know, and the girls would be glad to have the time off...” Her eyes open, shining up at Sabé with love and wistfulness.

“I'd like that,” Sabé breathes, and it comes nowhere near expressing how utterly, helplessly in love she is with this woman, but Padmé's eyes close again and she squeezes her fingers, and Sabé knows she is understood all the same.

The shadows have visibly shifted before either of them makes another move more dramatic than Sabé's slow, gentle petting. Padmé gives a sound that would be called a whine if it was slightly less dignified as Sabé leans over to grab a shuura from a nearby fruit basket. She slips a small silver dagger casually from her sleeve while the Queen settles back into her previous position with good-natured grumbling.

“Three more years,” she sighs as Sabé begins slicing the fruit. “I don't know if I can do it, Sabé.”

“You can.” Sabé impales the main body of the shuura to hold it while she offers the first slice to her lady. Padmé can't hold back a grin, and lifts her chin to take the offering delicately between her teeth.

It's a mark of how deeply relaxed they are that neither of them reacts to the knock on the door. Padmé's brow twitches in a brief frown, but she doesn't move except to shift slightly so that she faces the door, rather than gazing up at her handmaiden. She pushes herself up on one elbow and calls cautiously, “Enter.”

Sabé is already holding the pistol she'd placed on a side table. Just in case. Her caution is unwarranted; Captain Panaka, who normally respects the Queen's quarters as a place that for her own mental health must remain private, opens the door with an apologetic expression.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, your highness,” he says with a small bow. “There's a man here from the Theed city council with some sort of court order. He won't tell me what it is, but he claims he's here to see Sabé.”

* * *

**Day Sixteen**

The binders are new.

Sabé's good behavior has, until now, bought her a certain amount of leniency; she gave her word she would not attempt to escape when she was arrested, Padmé vouched for her honor, and she's given no indication she intends to go back on it. As such she has been somewhat at liberty, apart from the armed guards and solitary confinement.

The guards give no explanation as to why the security arrangements have suddenly changed. Sabé can't exactly say she's surprised.

It's also not a surprise—an annoyance, but not a surprise—when rather than removing the cuffs once she's inside the Council chamber one of the guards instead pulls her wrists onto her podium. There's a mechanical whir as an electromagnetic device Sabé is absolutely certain wasn't there before activates, sealing the binders in place.

“How are you feeling?” Panaka asks quietly before the chairperson has a chance to start in on her.

“Better, Captain.” He nods, and she flicks her gaze up to the window. She tries, again, to hide her disappointment when she realizes it's Rabé today. The young handmaiden makes an apologetic face, and Sabé inclines her head microscopically. It's good to see her again, too. Her lady still has responsibilities to her people; Sabé can hardly expect Padmé to be here every time she's called.

“If we can begin,” the chairperson says shortly, and Sabé braces herself. “In the last session for which you were present, you made worrying statements about your activities with the Queen while carrying on your affair.”

“I have come to the conclusion that breathing around the Queen is worrying to this Council, chairperson,” Sabé says, resigned. The guards' bassline-heavy music has been an intermittent occurrence since Eirtaé's visit, at all hours of the day or night. She's beginning to develop a headache, as much from lack of sleep as the noise; she has no energy to spare for stupidity. “You will need, as usual, to be more specific.”

“When asked to what use you put your leisure time in Queen Amidala's company, your response was that you talked.”

“No doubt you will inform me presently how speaking to my Queen constitutes treason.”

“What did you talk about?” asks dark-hair.

“Did you repeat these conversations to others?”

“Do you mean to imply an understanding of confidence between yourself and the Queen?”

“We are her handmaidens,” Sabé points out, irritated. “Her bodyguards and her attendants. Of course there is an understanding of confidence. Do you often regurgitate the contents of every private conversation to multiple third parties, councilwoman?”

“Then you maintain these conversations were not of a classified nature?”

“Certainly not,” says Sabé. “The Queen's handmaidens are selected largely for their discretion, and that is not an arbitrary requirement. We are all party to extremely delicate information; it is a trust we do not treat lightly. The majority of our conversations, private or otherwise, have involved information that would be considered classified.”

“Mixing business and pleasure?” the snake comments. “Not wise.”

“When every aspect of our lives and movements is classified, if none of our conversations touched on such things we would be reduced to discussing the weather.” Sabé pauses, then adds more vehemently, “Furthermore, councilman, the subject of this hearing is not whether my actions were wise, but whether the simple presence of love constitutes treason—a fact this Council appears to lose sight of on a regular basis!”

“Enough,” says the chairperson. “Councilman, move on.”

There are several more hours' worth of questions, but nothing that stands out, and Sabé is relieved when she's finally dismissed.

The guards don't turn their music off at all this time.

* * *

**Day Nineteen**

Sabé stumbles over the doorframe, and doesn't even bother to look up and see the satisfaction on the snake's face as she's chained to the podium.

She braces herself against the stand and tries to stay as upright as possible. As always her eyes are drawn immediately to the space just past the chairperson's shoulder. For a moment she feels a sick curl of despair at her lady's absence, she can't _do_ this without Padmé—but a moment later her eyes have adjusted somewhat better, and she can see the fear and worry in her lady's eyes where she stands by the window, shrouded in dove gray that Sabé's exhausted mind hadn't registered as any different from the walls.

The chairperson wastes no time. “Did you ever discuss classified information with anyone outside the Queen's inner circle or palace staff with suitable security clearance?”

“No.”

She can't remember the last time she slept. Not for more than a few minutes snatched at a time. Her head is spinning, her voice is barely a rasp, she feels sick, she's so tired she can barely see straight, and she's positive the lights are brighter today than ever before. They slice into her eyes, but she refuses to lower her gaze.

“Did you ever use your status as the Queen's paramour to leverage your own position in a conversation?”

There are responses to that, quick ones, but she can't quite grasp them through the fog. “I—no.”

“Not even a conversation with the Queen?”

Sabé takes a deep, steadying breath. “How do you mean?”

“You never sought to settle a disagreement by suggesting or implying that Her Highness ought to side with the one sharing her bed?”

“Of course not.”

“Even as a joke?”  
  
“No.”

“You say,” the chairperson changes tack, “that your private conversations with the Queen often concerned classified information.”

“What I said, chairperson,” and Sabé's headache spikes but she forces herself to only flinch a little, “was that it would be impossible for any conversation between us not to concern classified information to some degree.”

“These conversations would often involve current events?”

“Yes.”

It has been a long time since Sabé has been able to find the energy and confidence to make the kind of cutting replies that drew sympathy and laughter from the balcony. There is silence, now. She prays it's respectful. She prays she isn't simply losing their support.

The snake sits forward, an excitement in his eyes that Sabé does not understand. “Would you say you served as the Queen's sounding board?”

“Yes,” Sabé says, confused. “I hope that I did.”

"So she discussed her ideas and plans with you in private?"

"Yes."

“You offered her advice or insight during these conversations?”

“Of course I did, the Queen's handmaidens are—”

“You offered her your opinions of political happenings in a non-professional setting, as you just said.”

“Yes, of course—”

“And did you feel the Queen respected you?”

“I know that she respects me. Her regard is returned tenfold. Councilman, you are questioning me in circles and have yet to make any answerable accusation—”

“Then you admit to using your position to influence Queen Amidala's decisions,” the snake concludes, leaning back.

Bibble half-stands at that. “Councilman,” he exclaims. “That is quite a leap of logic for the circumstances.”

“I agree.” Panaka's voice is hard. “Queen Amidala is right to trust her handmaidens' judgment and take the wisdom and experiences of _all_ of her advisers into account. The presence of those advisers doesn't mean by any stretch of the imagination that her ultimate decision is anyone's but her own.”

The chairperson tsks. “You must acknowledge, Captain,” he says skeptically, “that Queen Amidala is very young. A young woman in such a position, especially one with Amidala's unique idealism—and, we may say frankly here, naivety—”

“You may _not_ say frankly, chairperson,” Sabé snaps. “Queen Amidala's leadership, much like my own wisdom, is not the subject of this trial. I would like to learn if I am to be convicted for treachery I have never committed before I die of old age!”

“A young woman in such a position,” the chairperson continues, raising his voice, “Would be highly susceptible to the whims of youth, and thus easily led.”

Panaka looks furious, Bibble scandalized; but the Council is not looking at them, because Sabé has collapsed against her stand, shaking with laughter.

“You,” she gasps weakly, “have never met her, have you?”

* * *

  **Day Twenty-One**

And now, at last, she seems to have made the Council angry.

“You acknowledge that you held an advisory role in the Queen's confidence,” the chairperson snaps before she's even stepped up to her podium.

“Yes, as do—”

“You acknowledge that the bond of understood trust between yourself and the Queen would by default be fundamentally different than that existing between Her Highness and the other handmaidens.”

“Different,” Sabé says, blinking rapidly to clear the spots dancing in her eyes from the glittering windows. She still hasn't slept and her heartbeat is worrying heavy in her ears. “But not necessarily stronger—”

“By your own account the Queen held you in high regard.”

“I believe that fact was the driving force behind this farce of a—”

The snake jumps in. “A Council member suggests that the Queen would take your advice into serious consideration when making decisions. Do you challenge that assertion?”

“If the Queen's decisions matched advice I had previously given her, perhaps she simply felt that advice best worth following,” Sabé sighs.

“Then you admit you may have had influence on her decisions.”

“We've been through this already,” Panaka protests, but the chairperson holds up a hand, and Sabé flounders briefly. If only she could _focus_ , but she's dizzy and exhausted.

“Of course I may have,” she says. “Anyone _may_ have—”

The snake has scented blood. “And with such access to the Queen,” he suggests, “You would naturally have access to state secrets.”

Sabé shakes her head sharply, and regrets it even more sharply as the room spins. She glances up and can't quite find Padmé. “We have established several times that I am among those with the Queen's highest confidence, this is hardly a shocking revelation—”

“Secrets you would be capable of giving up.”

“Councilman—!”

“You deny that you are capable, should you choose, of betraying Naboo's secrets?”

Sabé stammers, “I—of course I'm _capable_ , but I have no _reason_ —”

“Being entrusted with state secrets isn't evidence of treason, councilman.” That's Bibble; Panaka looks beyond words.

“But if pushed into, say, resenting the current Monarch for any reason—as, for example, a recent heartbreak...? The risk being _present_ is enough to be cause for concern...”

“Conjecture, councilman,” Sabé protests. “I would never—”

“We only have your word on that.”

“Councilman, if you cannot question me in good faith—how—You cannot accuse me of treason based on what you claim I _might_ have eventually done under hypothetical circumstances—there is no _possible_ way for me to prove my innocence if an accusation is assumed to be true simply because it is made, this is a _circus_ , not a trial—”

Sabé is still protesting incoherently when the guards step forward at some gesture of the chairperson's she has missed, and pull her out of the chamber and back onto the waiting transport ship.

* * *

**Day Twenty-Three**

Sabé never thought she would miss the head-splitting music.

The silence has returned, but now it is more maddening than ever, pushing in from all sides and smothering her. She wants to scream just to break it as much as from frustration, but she doesn't think she could bear to hear it swallow up the shriek of rage and terror that's tearing her apart from inside.

Since she was fourteen years old, Sabé has never gone more than a few hours without speaking to her lady. She hasn't even seen the sun in a month.

I just want this to be over, she thinks in despair. I just want to go home.

It's not her village or even the palace she pictures when she thinks the word. _Home_ means Padmé.

The ring of human footsteps in the corridor has her on her feet in an instant. The guards never come this way unless it's to fetch her; her food is delivered by a droid. As distracted and mad with restlessness as she is, Sabé is suddenly afraid. She has been able to feel herself losing her clarity, her center, her _purpose_ , the longer she's been alone; she is suddenly certain that she does not want to go in front of that Council again. Not like this. 

“Ah,” says her visitor with a warm smile. “The lady Sabé. I hoped I'd find you here.”

Sabé doesn't even react to the terrible excuse for a joke. She's in too much shock.

“I... _Chancellor Palpatine?_ ”

The Chancellor fiddles with the lock on her door, and it opens; Sabé has a wild, glorious moment of hope before he lets himself in and closes the bars behind him again. Her freedom was, perhaps, too much to hope for. A friendly face is more than enough.

“Do you mind if I...?” the Chancellor asks apologetically, and Sabé hastily vacates the bed so he can sit down. She pulls over the small end table she's been permitted, and sits on that instead.

The Chancellor sighs with relief as he sits down. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Chancellor, I...” Sabé shakes her head, incredulous. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Ah, yes. I apologize for inviting myself in, I'm aware I wasn't on your list.”

“That's really fine,” she assures him hastily.

He sighs. “Ah, Sabé. I'm so sorry about all this. I was _appalled_ when I heard the news. How anyone could possibly suspect you of treason, my dear girl, I don't know how you've borne it with such dignity.”

“I know it's false, Chancellor,” she says quietly. “That lends a great deal of strength.”

“But not enough,” he says, watching her.

She swallows. “I miss her,” she says. “Chancellor, I just want...”

He reaches out to pat her hand. “I know, my dear,” he says quietly. “I know. I came as soon as I could. Unfortunately this... _Council_ refuses to be budged on allowing her to see you. I'm so sorry, my lady, I did try.” He sighs again. “The Senate won't be in session again for several days, so I was only too happy to respond to my young friend Queen Amidala's request that I pay my home planet a visit and attempt to restore _sanity_ to these proceedings.”

Sabé sits forward, hope flaring hot and painful in her chest against her will. “Have you?” she pleads.

Palpatine smiles and squeezes her hand reassuringly. “As to that,” he says, “I have much better news.” He sounds more cheerful now. “As I understand you're being kept in the dark, that's what we have been working on over the past several days. I believe I have arranged a way for you to secure your freedom. It would be illegal for me to give you any more details at the present time, of course,” he adds. “But when it is presented in session, my dear, I highly suggest you do take it. The consequences otherwise...” He shakes his head helplessly. “I cannot control the Council's decision, and I will not be able to protect you.”

Sabé nods, and her anxiety curls tighter.

“I understand. Thank you, Chancellor.”

He gives her a pained smile and stands to leave, pausing only to set something on her pillow before letting himself back out and locking the door. “Good luck, my dear,” he says kindly.

Sabé nods to him, and turns her attention to the object he's left behind.

Slightly bruised and battered, a shuura sits innocently on her bed. Sabé buries her head in her arms and sobs.

* * *

**Day Twenty-Five**

The next time the guards fetch her out, Sabé is incredibly disoriented; she had been certain it was too late in the day, Council sessions never take place past late afternoon. Her confusion is only slightly mollified when she steps into the chamber and realizes that the windows are dark. She doesn't bother asking what time it is.

She risks a glance over her shoulder; there are people in the balcony, which is a surprise, but it's not nearly as full as it has sounded during the day. A quick glance confirms that the Queen's handmaidens have no presence in the chamber. Sabé is effectively alone with the Council.

Panaka looks pained, Bibble upset, but neither appears angry and they both nod to her as she enters. Palpatine appears in good spirits from where he's sitting next to the chairperson; he smiles, and she tries to approximate one in reply.

“Lady Sabé.” The chairperson looks and sounds like he's being forced to drink liquefied Hutt, and Sabé wonders if it's because of the honorific or simply because he's being forced to use her name like a civilized person. Either option is strangely satisfying.

“Chairperson,” she answers mildly. Padmé, she's certain, would have smiled at that.

The chairperson sends her a filthy look. “It has been brought to this Council's attention over the past few days,” he says, “that we have neglected to address a looming question relevant to your so-called relationship with the Queen.”

“I would object to that statement, chairperson,” Sabé informs him. He looks briefly surprised, and she continues, “I would argue that this Council has failed to address almost _every_ relevant question, and am curious as to which of the many obvious ones has just now occurred to you.”

Dark-hair actually hisses. The chairperson grinds his teeth.

“When this arrangement was entered into,” he bites out, “Did you feel threatened?”

“Threatened? No, chairperson.”

Palpatine clears his throat and, despite the fact that there is no possible way he is actually a member of the Council, the chairperson sits back to allow him to speak.

“My lady,” he says meaningfully. “The word the chairperson means to say is _pressured_. If you entered into this arrangement with Her Highness out of a sense of requirement, of course, it would be clear to see that you have been taken advantage of, and you would not be held responsible for your actions.”

Sabé bristles. If this is the bargain she is intended to make for her freedom, she will have no part in it. “You accuse the Queen of base manipulation,” she says sharply. “A blatantly cruel abuse of power!”

Palpatine looks hurt. “Not at all, my lady,” he soothes her. “It would be entirely possible her intentions were innocent. The question at hand is whether _you_ felt as if, oh, for example... your position at the palace hung in the balance? This Council is prepared to accept your word on the matter, if you will give and sign a statement to this effect.”

“I will not put my name to libel, Chancellor.”

“Perhaps you simply did not wish for your beloved Queen to lose respect for you? Any outside pressure or coercion would, of course, mean that you were not at fault. You would be permitted to quietly resign your position and be dismissed into the private sector, as the Council could obviously not in good conscience send you back to an exploitative position. But it would be a quiet, honorable discharge.”

“I was not coerced,” Sabé says evenly. “Queen Amidala has never held us in anything but the highest possible respect, and would no more allow exploitation of her staff than a Trade Federation army on our soil. I am and have always been proud to serve her, and proud to love her.”

Palpatine's eyes are hard and piercing. “Lady Sabé,” he says sharply, cutting off a comment by the snake. She leans back at the unexpected harshness, and he visibly calms himself. “I hope you realize,” he says, low and even. “If you insist to the Council that you _are_ responsible for your actions, and that they were made willingly and with your full consent, your story will not be believed should you change it. Are you absolutely certain, my lady, that you would not like to recant your previous statement? Take your time to think about it, Sabé.” The look he gives her is easy to read. _I will not be able to protect you._

He is offering her a choice; life or pride, betrayal or execution.

She has chosen Padmé over her own safety every day since the bold young Queen was elected. That bargain was made long ago.

“Thank you, Chancellor,” she says with a proud lift of her chin, “but I do not need time to deliberate. I have spoken honestly to this Council and trust in the integrity of Naboo. I will not recant the truth.”

For a moment, just for a moment, she almost thinks she sees something like triumph in Palpatine's eyes. She shakes it off a moment later. She is tired. She is jumping at shadows.

Sabé turns and walks out. Her guards flank her, but do not attempt to pull her back.

* * *

**Day Twenty-Seven**

There are no honorifics this time, and the murmuring from the balcony is charged; the chairperson has to call for order three times before it settles down. Palpatine, true to his word, is gone.

Padmé is here now, shimmering with flame in the light from the windows, looking strained but strong. Sabé fights to flash her a smile past the sudden lump in her throat.

The Queen has never been more beautiful. Sabé was doomed the moment they met. She regrets nothing, even now.

Padmé catches her gaze and holds it.

 _I love you,_ she mouths, and Sabé realizes there are tears in her lady's eyes.

The chairperson looks down at her. “Before this Council makes its decision final,” he says formally, “The accused has the right to make a last argument in their defense.”

Sabé doesn't bother tearing her eyes away from Padmé. There's no point, now.

“I have said everything I can,” she says. It's loud enough to be heard, soft enough that she hopes it can carry a fraction of the intimacy she wants it to. “The Council will let me have my overdue justice, or they will not. I know who and what I am. I have committed no crime except loving a young woman whose body manages to be nearly as beautiful as her spirit. I only hope that, no matter this Council's decision, the Queen will not do anything rash.”

Padmé shakes her head slightly, looking hurt. Sabé raises her eyebrows, just a little, just enough.

“Queen Amidala is the finest Monarch to bless this planet in centuries,” she says evenly, tenderly. “Naboo needs her. I believe the galaxy needs her. I am not ashamed to love her, but I would die before endangering that which she holds so dear. I ask that this Council play no more games with my patience, and spare me the mockery of pretending my final words mean anything. Tell me your decision, chairperson. Let us be done with it.”

The chairperson ignores her. “Do any on this Council wish to reconsider its position in light of this argument?” he asks. All show. All ritual. A spectacle to the end.

Panaka's eyes are closed. Governor Bibble looks stony.

“Would it do any good?” he mutters.

“Councilman?”

Bibble waves the chairperson off.

“As you will. Captain.”

Panaka stands, holding a deceptively innocent-looking datapad. The sigil of the crown of Naboo is embossed on the back. It feels like a final insult. He looks at her, and she nods sharply. This is not his fault. He has done everything he can.

“This Council...” He begins, then stops short. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “No. I will not be party to this cruelty.”

The snake shrugs and holds out a hand. “As you wish, Captain,” he smirks, and Sabé stiffens.

“Captain,” she says sharply. Panaka looks to her, and she hopes he can see the plea in her eyes. “I would sooner hear it from a friend.”

He looks at her for a long time, then nods and clears his throat.

“This Council,” he says, carefully emotionless, “Finds the accused guilty of high treason against the crown of Naboo, under the charges of criminal misleading of a Monarch and violation of the Monarch's person in a manner which threatens Her honor.”

Sabé's head falls, and her shoulders tighten as she lets the words fall on her. She had known this was coming. The verdict is not a surprise. But a knife in the back does not bleed less for the anticipation of it.

Panaka's voice sounds like he's in almost as much pain as she is. “These charges,” he continues determinedly, “Carry a traditional sentence of death, which this Council does not pass.”

Oh.

This, however. This, she did not expect.

“In deference to the ancient Right of Forgiveness which is still relevant in our Constitution to this day, invoked by Her Royal Highness the Queen Amidala through royal decree, the sentence of death may not be laid in this instance.”

 _Padm_ _é_.

“Therefore it is the will of this Council—” His voice shakes at the lie. “—That the sentence be mitigated to one of permanent exile, to last for the duration of the life of the subject, the terms of banishment to be laid down henceforth.”

“The terms of banishment shall be considered violated if the subject enters the sovereign space of Naboo or any planet in the Chommell Sector, or remains in the space comprising the Chommell Sector for a period longer than three standard days excepting the case of a mechanical emergency. In the case of a mechanical emergency, the subject must make reasonable attempts to make their presence known to Naboo's security forces and allow themselves to be monitored until rescue or repairs are made, at which point they are required to vacate the Sector immediately.”

“The terms of banishment shall be considered violated if the subject enters the established embassy of Naboo on any planet, asteroid, space station, or other celestial body.”

There is a pause, and then the final blow.

“The terms of banishment shall be considered violated if the subject initiates or reciprocates any communications, whether electronic, by proxy, via writing, or in person, with Her Royal Highness the Queen Amidala of Naboo.”

“Violation of the above terms of banishment will be met with an immediate rescinding of the sentence of exile, to be replaced with a sentence of life imprisonment, in deference to the aforementioned Right of Forgiveness.”

Panaka sets down the datapad. His hands, Sabé notes with shock through the dull roaring in her ears, are trembling.

“Kill me,” she babbles, cold fear clutching at her heart. “Kill me, give me that dignity at least, what life have you left me?”

“The life of a traitor,” dark-hair spits.

“What have I _betrayed?_ ” Sabé cries. “You've done nothing but make vague insinuations, Naboo is my _home!_ ”

The Council ignores her. Bibble is blinking back tears; Panaka hasn't moved since he set down the datapad.

And Padmé has abandoned her post by the window in a blind rage.

That Sabé is even able to register her voice through the growing pandemonium in the balcony is a sign of how much it means to her. Half of the observers seem to think she's gotten off too easy, and are baying for her blood, yelling insults that roll off her; the other half is loudly protesting the ludicrous nature of the verdict, calling demands for evidence.

“Chairperson!” Padmé shouts. “This is a _gross_ miscarriage of justice, you've presented no answerable charges, this is madness—”

“Silence, handmaiden,” he says coldly.

“The Queen will not stand for this—Sabé, I _won't_ let them do this to you—”

It is the only thing that could possibly have jolted Sabé out of her spiraling horror. With the little time remaining to her, she raises her right hand and places it on her stand, where her Queen can't help but see it.

Three fingers pressed together, the index seperate from the others but not touching the thumb. One of their signals.

_Don't drop the charade._

Padmé looks mutinous, and it breaks Sabé's heart, but she has to do it. Another sign, this one more complicated, not a signal. Basic Sign Language. _Naboo_.

The one word in all the galaxy that can make Padmé Amidala do something she doesn't want to do.

Sabé's guards converge on her, and this time she understands the binders, because she has never wanted to run so badly in her life; but before they can pull her away, she has time to see one last signal from Padmé.

Pinkie and thumb tucked under, three fingers pressed together.

 _Hold_ , it means. _Wait_. _Follow my lead_.

In this context, Sabé has loved her too long to mistake her meaning.

 _Wait for me_ , Padmé begs her, as if there is a chance they might meet again; and Sabé cannot believe that, the trap has been set too well, but Padmé is her queen and her goddess and she is incapable of doubting her.

She will wait until the stars die.

She inclines her head, and realizes with a pain that threatens to overwhelm her completely as she is removed from the chamber that her last memory of Padmé is in all likelihood going to be this, her eyes filled with agony, shattering from the inside out.

* * *

  _And Lancelot, his head held high, said: "I'll die in love with Guinevere; my crime was love."_

* * *

 


End file.
